My taper for Rock the Ridge was a self-imposed week longer than my plan had called for, and as I’m sure you all know, it’s hard to not second-guess yourself in advance of a goal race when you’re not running.
Here’s what got me through it:
Our new dog, Phil.
Phil is about 4, and is thought to be a bichon mix. We think he’s as cute as a button, but best yet, Phil is chill. He (sometimes) goes to work. He also goes to Starbucks, physical therapy and school. He likes eggs, muenster cheese, and spaghetti. He ran the last 300 yards of Rock the Ridge with me, which completely exhausted him. But he does like a good walk.
Phil came to us through our local shelter where Thing 3 and I volunteer. He was brought in as a stray, and was terrified and wouldn’t come out of his cage, but somehow Thing 3 was able to coax him out. With the Mister’s ok, we went back the next day to put in an application. And then we sat on pins and needles for about 5 days. This was much more stress-inducing than any taper!
Funny story–I gave the name of my friend (and former business partner) as a reference. When the shelter called her, they asked “Is she the type of pet owner who would visit a vet instead of ignore an injury or illness.” My friend replied “Well, have I got a story for you,” and proceeded to tell them about how 7 years ago, Thing 2 was caring for her daughter’s gerbil Dude while they went on vacation. I came home from work, and Thing 2 was in tears by Dude’s cage, as Dude was clearly sick. What a conundrum. Because on the one hand it’s only a small rodent. But it’s my friend’s daughter’s pet. So I looked up the address for the emergency vet clinic, and started calling my friend to see how much money they would be willing to drop at the vet. Of course, I’m not reaching my friend, so I load Dude into a shoebox and Things 2 and 3 and shoeboxed Dude into the car, and off we speed away to the vet, with Thing 2 auto-dialing my friend to try to reach her before we get there.
We weren’t able to get ahold of my friend, but the point was mute, as when we got to the clinic, the vet had us put Dude on the gurney, and the shock of the cold metal killed the gerbil upon contact. She kindly packed him up in medical paper and a plastic bag and sent us on our way.
As we were leaving the clinic parking lot, my friend got through to us. Everyone was on speakerphone. “I’m so sorry, but I needed to know…” I started. “NO VET,” yelled her husband, while simultaneously, my friend said “$8 bucks, that’s as high as we’ll go.” “No worries,” I finished. “Dude’s dead.” There was an audible sigh of relief from everyone.
Phil, thank goodness, is not a rodent. Although he is in need of a good grooming (which will happen on Saturday), but no vet, yet.